


Putting the World Back Together

by KysisTheBard



Series: Bitter Sirens [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Espionage, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KysisTheBard/pseuds/KysisTheBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manhattan is rebuilding after the alien invasion attempt. Loki is taken back to Asgard for his trial.  The Avengers have gone their separate ways.  But maybe Tony Stark isn’t okay with that, especially when it comes to Bruce Banner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Bitter Sirens is going to be kind of massive. 10 chapters per part. I have at least 7 parts planned out at this point. It may grow.

Chapter I: A New Direction

Everyone was already shuffling out of the meeting room, minds already far away. He couldn’t blame them. Tony couldn’t join them either, and it wasn’t just because his entire back was black and blue and he might have a cracked rib and wasn’t particularly looking forward to moving. He sat there in the plush leather executive chair, fingers fiddling with his pen as he frowned at the glass table.

This was neutral grounds—better than, even, this was his tower—but Fury still set him on edge. He didn’t show it, of course, but it was there. The man was a super spy. He had found out, without Tony even knowing of his existence (okay, that was a lie too, but he hadn’t cared about Fury’s existence), that the arc reactor was giving him palladium poisoning and was actually killing him. And that Tony was on the verge of suicide by alcohol or gunfire or anything else that might kill him.

He frowned a little deeper, eyes trailing Banner as he slowly, stiffly, left the room. Tony sighed. Nevermind. There were more important matters to deal with. Like this “new direction” S.H.I.E.L.D. was apparently going in. He wanted to know more about that, and would rather do it the easy way. Which was probably going to be hacking their databases again.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Stark?”

“You know, after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, you’d think we’d be on a first name basis.” Tony worked up his usual smirk. It felt a bit more snide than usual, but it was appropriate, so he rolled with it.

Fury kept his hands clasped behind his back. There was dust flecking his leather trench. It was probably from being in the tower, since the title of Director meant staying back from the frontlines and yelling orders while everyone else risked their necks and flew nukes through intergalactic portals.

Not that Tony was bitter or anything.

“You still have not answered my question, Mr. Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. That was a bad idea. It knocked the smirk right off his lips, but he refused to let anything else show, especially not pain. Spies probably got off on pain. That seemed like Natasha’s dish, at least.

“Okay, so, this new direction.” Tony scooted up to the table, hands out. He had to do something with his hands to keep himself on track. “I highly doubt that it’s just let the Avengers Initiative split up and go wherever and live happily ever after.”

“And if it is?”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Gotta say, you have a horrible track record with lying.”

“Your point?”

“It sounds like you are still looking for the Space Balls version of nuclear deterrent.”

“The Avengers Initiative is our nuclear deterrent.”

“Right.” Tony laughed. He knew he was treading on thin ice. Wasn’t he always? That wasn’t the problem, though. “I highly doubt the helicarrier is cost effective to keep running at all times, even if it’s just on the water.”

“You’re right. And from what I hear, there are a few levels of Stark Tower that just opened up.”

“Excuse me?” Tony rose from his chair slowly, hands stilling.

“Don’t act like you can’t hear me.” Fury finally turned, one eye narrowing on him. Tony froze where he was standing, like they were playing red light, green light, and Fury was about to send him back to the starting line. “If you were actually paying attention to your own company, you would have noticed a private organization buying Stark Industries stock for the last two years.”

“Controlling interest. That’s your play?”

Fury smiled. Tony didn’t like it. Whoever had the controlling interest in stock could steer the direction of the company, albeit subtly.

“You want Stark Industries back in weaponeering.”

“No, we want more clean energy.” Fury had a way with sarcasm. As in, it was immediately obvious when he was being sarcastic. Even Thor might be able to figure it out.

“We don’t do weapons contracts anymore.” Tony rubbed his hands together. They were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets. “Push all you want. I won’t sign off on it.”

“I was being serious, Mr. Stark.” Fury flashed that smile, the one that said he was going to shoot someone in five seconds, probably the one he’s smiling at, and the bang was going to make him happy. “I am interested in moving an off season S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters into your tower, and preferably, there will be appropriate areas for each member of the initiative.”

“Doctor Banner can control it—”

“I wasn’t talking about Doctor Banner. I was talking about all of you, especially you, Mr. Stark. You have a way of becoming very unruly.”

“Gee, thanks, I didn’t just save New York City from becoming a sparking radiation crater. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stark—”

“I think we’re done here.” Tony lifted his wrist, glancing down at it. He wasn’t wearing a watch. The gesture would have to do. They had a bitter and badly defeated supervillain to ship back to Asgard, among other things, and the clock was ticking.

Thankfully, Fury didn’t try to stop his departure, otherwise there might have been problems.


	2. Other Plans

CHAPTER II: OTHER PLANS

He paused outside the elevator, bag clutched in his hands. It was military issue, thick canvas, and would do great for traveling. His old suitcase was beyond worn out and did not have enough room for more than a few changes of clothes and a toothbrush, much less the instruments S.H.I.E.L.D. had the good grace to lend him, packed away carefully.

Bruce Banner was ready to go, wherever it was he ended up going this time. He still was not sure about that. Normally he wasn’t. The lack of predictability, even to himself, had served him well in the past.

The lobby of the Stark Tower was in ruins, concrete dust covering everything like white sheets, chunks of rubble and aliens strewed about with just about as much frequency as one another. Tony had parked right in the middle of it all, sleek sports car severely out of place. It was like he did not even care, though, tossing the keys to someone who must have worked for him.

Tony sauntered straight to the elevator, pushing the button and standing there, impatient as ever. Bruce moved more slowly, careful with his footing. He would hate to slip; everyone would turn and stare at him, afraid that he would do more than fall. He couldn’t really blame them. For years, Bruce had had the same exact fear.

He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

That fear was still there, even with Tony acting like there was nothing wrong. That seemed to be the way he dealt with things. It was not that easy. He wished it was. He really did. But nothing was as easy as Tony made it seem.

The elevator door dinged open, the lights inside flickering off and on. Tony got in, arms crossed over his grey blazer. He was still wearing his sunglasses. Bruce rolled his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

They started up with a jump. Bruce held his breath, closing his eyes. He’d never liked elevators or the way they made his stomach feel. Or the fact that it was a little steel box suspended on cables. That only made his stomach feel worse. Bruce let out a shaky sigh, hands fidgeting with a strap on his bag. It kept him occupied.

He expected Tony to keep him occupied. Normally he was talking at a million miles an hour, slipping between technojargon and petnames and random quips so seamlessly it was like he was a computer. He might as well have been, though ninety-percent of the computers in the world probably couldn’t multitask like the Tony Stark.

The silence was unnerving.

“So.” Bruce started off awkwardly. He always did. What the always debonair billionaire saw in him he’d never know. “You did not look entirely pleased about the Tesseract going back.”

Tony hummed next to him. Bruce could hear him roll back onto the heels of his polished shoes. Those shoes were probably worth more than Bruce had made in the last ten years. Then again, so was the outfit he was wearing, borrowed straight from Tony’s closet, with Pepper Pott’s help. They matched, in a strange way. It didn’t help him feel any more comfortable.

“You wanted to do more tests on it.”

“Hey.” Tony smiled, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. They both knew he wasn’t the surrendering type, making it almost comical. “When science gives me sex eyes that dirty, I have a hard time saying no.”

Leave it to Tony to make a sexual innuendo about something completely non-sexual. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He just shook his head. That was all he could do in reply to half Tony’s remarks.

“Come on, like you didn’t want to.”

“No, actually, I didn’t.” Bruce finally opened his eyes. The elevator was still going up. His stomach lurched again. “I think the Tesseract has caused enough problems without you poking it.”

Tony let out an offended gasp, pressing a hand to his heart. Bruce highly doubted Tony was offended. In fact, he doubted that it was even possible. This was just dramatics (and to think, apparently Tony had called Loki a diva).

“Making science with me is a much more intricate process than just poking things.”

There he went again.

Bruce didn’t even try to suppress his sigh this time. He ran a hand up over his face, pushing his wayward salt-and-pepper curls off his forehead.

“Are you ready to see Candyland?” Tony nudged him with an elbow and a wink. He wasn’t helping things.

“Look, Tony, I… I didn’t come here to see Candyland.”

Tony licked his lips, mashing them together. It wasn’t innuendo this time. Bruce knew that look. It was the same look Tony got when Captain Steve Rogers made digs about his character.

“I came to give you back these clothes.” Bruce tugged at the pressed yellow collar of his shirt. It was comfortable, the fabric soft and clean, but it wasn’t his. “And to say good bye.”

Bruce made the mistake of looking up and immediately cursed himself mentally for it. Tony had that look. It was too vulnerable, too open, too sad. He could see the layers of armor—one Iron Man, one billionaire, one playboy, one philanthropist—peeled away, and it made him uncomfortable. He felt like he’d just kicked a puppy.

“Tony, I’m sorry, I just can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

The force of the question jarred him just as much as the sudden stop of the elevator did. Bruce took in a deep breath and let it out, air rattling in his lungs. He repeated, counting backwards from ten.

“You know it’s too dangerous—”

“That excuse again? Really? After everything you did—”

“It wasn’t me, Tony, it was the other guy and—”

“The other guy ran two blocks and launched himself into the air to catch me from a freefall from space! If that wasn’t an admiral display of self control, then I don’t know what is!”

The elevator door slid open. Beyond it was Tony’s promised Candyland. He could see the soft glow of computer screens and the shine of clean metal instruments and machines and he could hear the hushed, reverent chatter of the world’s most brilliant minds at work. It was everything he could have dreamed of and more.

Tony stepped out of the elevator, spinning on a heel to face him. He held out a hand.

“Tony…” Bruce looked down at his shoes again. He couldn’t look into those eyes and say what he had to. “It would only take one slip. One moment of not being in complete control.” Bruce counted up to ten this time. It didn’t help as much as he was hoping. “And then all of this, everything you’ve spent all these years building, it’ll be gone.”

That hand wavered. It stayed up, just barely in his field of view.

“I’m sorry.”

Bruce pressed the button for the bottom floor.


	3. Control

CHAPTER III: CONTROL

“We were wondering, Mr. Stark, if Stark Industries was going to foot any of the repair cost for Manhattan.”

Tony stared down at the podium, pencil in hand. He finished drawing the curve of a wall, tilting his head to the side. The reporter cleared his throat, finally pulling his gaze back up.

Press conference. Right.

He really did not want to be doing this right now.

“It’s not enough that I took a nuclear warhead that was aimed for Manhattan and flew it through an intergalactic portal, saving the city from being completely obliterated?” Tony let his gaze roll over the gathering, cameras flashing like strobes from all sides. He should be used to this by now. He had been. Right now, he really couldn’t care less.

Tony looked back down at the small stacks of papers he had. Normally, this would all be digital. Normally, he wouldn’t be completely ignoring a press conference—okay, maybe that was false—but they could not have picked a worse time.

“Sir, what happened to the war criminal who led the invasion?”

That brought his eyes back up again. A plain looking man in a brown suit had his hand raised. He was probably the one who’d asked. Thankfully, Tony had been prepared for that question.

“I am not at liberty to discuss that topic. Classified information.” Tony forced a smile. “And would you look at that, time is up. Pack up everyone. Out. Out. Out.” Tony waved, going back to his drawing.

0 0 0 0 0

“What are you working on?” Pepper kept one arm wrapped around her, the other holding up a fluted glass. She pressed her lips to the rim, but did not drink. Her cheeks were already dusted pink, a warm flush. She was glad she had already toed off her shoes and was wearing jean cut-off shorts, otherwise it would be entirely too warm in there.

Tony pushed his hands apart on the table-top screen, files unfurling under his touch. Sometimes she still marveled at how fast he could work with holographic images. She was still getting used to them. Even then, she preferred a phone in her hand, or an actual computer. Sometimes she wondered if Tony even knew what a normal computer looked like.

In a matter of moments, a 3-D hologram of the Stark Tower stood on the table. Pepper walked up beside him, looking down. The files spread out looked like floor diagrams, each of them slightly different.

“When did you become an expert in architectural design?” Pepper took a ship, nudging Tony with her hip. Despite that, he kept concentrated, picking out details here and there, turning them, spinning them, no doubt analyzing them before she could even get a good look at them. The neon lines were a little difficult to concentrate on.

“Making some modifications to the Tower.”

“I noticed.” Pepper reached out, grabbing one of the floors. It was nothing like the floor she remembered being there, but it did match one of the files. “What are these places?”

Tony grabbed the floor back from her, slotting it back into the whole.

Giggling, she swiped at the top of the tower, cleaving the whole R&D department off the display. Tony finally glanced up, brown eyes focusing on her.

“Press conferences don’t normally get you this worked up.”

“It wasn’t the press conference.” Tony frowned at the display, picking his penthouse off it and whisking it to the side. The floor beneath it matched another one of the files. That one had a hawk seal on it. It almost looked like the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

“Was it S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Pepper let out a little oops sound, pressing her fingers to her lips. “Not that I know anything about it.”

Tony rolled his eyes. He reached out, sinking his fingers into the building. With a twist, he pulled the layers apart. They scattered, falling easily apart. It looked so easy, to pull send the tower flying into pieces. The wonders of technology.

Speaking of the wonders of technology, Tony didn’t seem to be responding to anything but. Pepper put on her usual smile, tapping the edge of the glass against her lips. “Tony… I’ll be in bed. It’s late. So.” She reached over, leaning as well. Tony didn’t even turn.

Downing the rest of her glass, she set it down on the table, walking quickly away.

Tony didn’t come to bed. He wasn’t even in the penthouse in the morning. Figured.

0 0 0 0 0

The Tower was like a hive, a buzzing, writhing hive, and the coffee wasn’t done brewing yet. Tony sagged against the counter, staring at the pot. Thick, dark coffee spilled into the carafe, but not nearly fast enough. He groaned, lowering his head to the counter with a thump.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents were everywhere. The construction zones, the offices, the labs, everywhere.

Tony grabbed the pot, yanking it out. The drip stopped, a few drops splashing on the heating pad. He slopped coffee in his mug and shoved the pot back in, the stream starting again. Tony took a rough gulp. It was dark and bitter. Exactly what he needed right now.

“Hello… Mr. Stark?”

Groaning, Tony turned his head. The man was wearing a black suit, pressed white shirt, and straight black tie. Tony glanced at his nametag, squinting. Couldn’t make it out. Tony turned his face back to his coffee mug, slurping loudly from it.

“Sir, I am here on behalf of Director Fury.”

Tony sighed. It was too early to deal with Nick Fury. It was too early to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D. and its agents. It was too early to be functioning, unless he was in his garage, at which point he probably wouldn’t have slept at all, so it wasn’t early, it was just time to work.

“What?” Tony knocked back the second half of his coffee back like a shot. That was a thought. There had to be whisky somewhere nearby.

“Director Fury would like to extend a formal thanks for allowing a S.H.I.E.L.D. field office to find its home in your tower.” The man smiled. Tony rolled his eyes. “And he would like to thank you for the technological advancements you have given to S.H.I.E.L.D. over the past two years.”

“He’s paying me.” Tony sloshed more coffee into his mug. He needed a bigger coffee pot. And a faster one.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. Out.” Tony tipped the mug back.

“Sir, I work here.”

“That’s nice.” Tony downed the second cup. This wasn’t even his record. He wouldn’t be slacking, but the coffee pot couldn’t keep up. It was starting to trickle. If JARVIS was hooked up to the coffee pot, this wouldn’t be a problem. He should actually do that.

“Sir—”

“You know what, I’ll leave.” Tony dumped the last of the coffee in his mug the moment it stopped dripping, pushing himself up off the counter. “I can’t concentrate with you here anyway.”

The agent looked baffled, but didn’t say anything else. That was good, because the caffeine was starting to hit his bloodstream. He could feel the synapses speeding up. It was glorious. Tony sauntered out, going straight to his private elevator—which was empty, thankfully—and punched up to his penthouse.

It looked like the perfect day to go on a flight. To Malibu. For a long time.


	4. Eyes

CHAPTER IV: EYES

The water was warm, even from the tap. He rolled his wrists, trying to dispel some of the tension in the muscles. Frowning, Bruce lathered his hands, up his wrists. There was not any soap at the rickety sink. It was probably a blessing the little building even had running water.

He shut the water off with his elbow, holding his hands up to let them air dry. It probably wouldn’t happen. The humidity clung to his skin like an oppressive wet blanket. His clothing clung to him awkwardly. Despite that, the salt air was nice, as was the breeze coming off the Caribbean.

It was a little building, a makeshift hospital. They were somewhere south of Playa del Carmen. Bruce was not really sure where at the moment, but it didn’t matter. Eventually, he’d go further inland. They had more need of doctors in the jungle, surely, but for now, this would do.

Every day was the same. That was nice. There were no alien invasions. No mythological gods trying to take over the world. He was surrounded by the familiar sounds of the sick. This was something he could handle. None of them looked at him judgingly, none of them looked at him with expectation. Rather, they looked at him with hope.

Bruce pressed the stethoscope to a young man’s chest, listening. His cough was wet. That was not good. Bruce frowned, the expression scrunching up his entire face. He set about to work immediately, doing what he could. It was not much, not yet.

Perhaps he would be able to do more soon. A book on local plant life sat half out of his bag, a few Pesos sticking out of it at awkward angles. He tried denying payment, but really, he needed the money, especially if he wanted to actually buy some medicine. And he needed food.

The day went by exactly as the last few had, only a little busier. Word of a doctor from America spread like wildfire, and there had been a steady stream of patients already. Bruce could keep up with it, even at his leisurely pace. They seemed to appreciate his calm demeanor, which was good. He did not want to risk anything else.

The next day went the same.

And the next after that.

Bruce had a little room of his own, a tiny cubicle, but enough. There was a cot in the corner and enough room to put his bag down and even lay out a few of his possessions, if he wanted to. Normally he just stashed the bag under the cot, the room practically looking unlived in.

The next day after that was routine as well.

It was the one after that which unsettled him. It was a small village, and word of anything strange traveled fast. There were foreigners in town, snooping around. Bruce took in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

No matter where he went, he would still be followed. He would still be watched.

Bruce packed his stuff, not that there was much to pack, and left during the night. They headed on a mud road out into the jungle. He would be more use in the smaller villages anyway.


	5. Prep Work

CHAPTER V: PREP WORK

“What’s the story this time?”

Director Fury set the file on the table, spinning it to face her. She picked it up, flicking it open with a cocked red brow. Normally Fury had all the files in digital form. The only person they really bothered with paper for was Steve, and that’s because he was still in a bit of culture shock. She was good with technology.

“Are you afraid Stark still has all your databases tapped?”

Fury looked down, slightly to the left. He was frustrated, even though he did not openly express it. Natasha smiled. She could read most people like an open book; Director Fury was no exception.

“The virus was removed.”

“Yes, but this is Stark we are talking about. Off in Malibu or not, he has his ways.”

This was true. Natasha gave a slight nod in ascent, scanning over the file. “Translator. Hmm.” She flipped the page, glancing over what her background was going to be. She had it memorized in under a minute, repeating it like a mantra in her head. She flipped to the next page. “So, is this merely recognizance?”

“Yes. I need eyes and ears in the U.N. and I need them now. The Council was not happy with any of what transpired. I need to know if the rest of the world shares that sentiment.”

“Where will Agent Barton be?” She smoothed the file shut, laying it back on the desk. She would not take it with her. She knew all she needed to. This was just a routine operation.

“I don’t think I will be giving him any new assignments just yet.”

Natasha frowned. This was about the Tesseract. “He proved himself in Manhattan, just like the rest of us.”

“And I don’t like taking chances.” Director Fury reclined in his chair, good eye still locked on her. She kept perfectly still, face impassive. “That is all, Agent Romanoff.”

There was no arguing with Fury about this. She could hear the door closing in his voice, could see it in his posture. Most of all… Fury looked tired.

Now was not the time to comment on it. She stood quickly, pivoting on her heel and walking away. She needed to pack basic supplies, mostly for defensive measures. If this was anywhere near as routine as it sounded, she would not even need that much.

0 0 0 0 0

“How is the remodel on the Tower going?”

Everything is running ahead of schedule, Sir.

Tony paused in the entertainment space—it was far too big to be considered a living room—hands in his pockets as he stared out the windows. The ocean was calm, little white peaks showing on waves here and there, but not too much. It was a horrible day for surfing.

The mansion had gotten a make-over of its own in the past year. A few, actually. Every time he fixed the place up, he ended up having to tear half of it down again for another project. It was totally worth it.

No longer having palladium poisoning was definitely worth it.

Tony tapped a finger against his arc reactor, face twisted in thought. He didn’t have any paperwork to sign. He needed to get working on some suit modifications to the Mark VII, not to mention the repairs. It had really taken a beating over Manhattan.

“Jarvis, warm up the lights in the garage and wake up all my friends down there.”

Yes, Sir. I am certain they will be very happy to see you.

“Am I detecting sarcasm?” Tony turned, glaring up at the ceiling. He knew J.A.R.V.I.S. could see him through the cameras, though whether or not the AI could distinguish between all his facial expressions was an entirely different matter.

He was growing, though. That was the problem with AI. He had built it as a simple help around the house originally, and now it was smart enough to help with all his projects.

No, Sir. Of course not. I would never be sarcastic.

Tony rolled his eyes, slinging off his coat. He tossed it. It landed on the corner of a chair, which was better than the floor, he guessed. That off, he started unbuttoning his dress shirt, heading down the stairs.

It would be nice to have a chance to actually make something again. He had to take advantage of the time while it lasted.

0 0 0 0 0

The click of her heels echoed down the long hallway, vaulted ceilings and stone archways doing nothing to muffle them. She turned a sharp corner, stepping into the shadows. There was no one else in the cathedral right now, other than monks, but they had more important things to concentrate on.

Flicking out her phone, she pressed it to her ear. It took half a ring for Director Fury to pick up.

“Is this a secure line?”

“Yes. My line is encrypted and it pings between three different satellites and two routers before getting to you.” Natasha paused, red painted lips pursed as she waited for Fury’s hum of approval, which came shortly. “I have information to report.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“I have a place in the main proceedings, as a transcriber.” She smiled wistfully. They thought she could not understand anyone but the member from her own ‘country’ and because of that, she’d gotten the job immediately. While all the delegates were wearing translators on their ears, she was translating in her head, taking mental notes for later.

“And?”

“And many members of the U.N. are worried that S.H.I.E.L.D. is directly affiliated with the United States of America and as such, makes them too powerful.”

She could hear the seething sigh Fury let out over the line. He was frustrated. She would be too, if she was in his position.

“So now that the aliens are gone, we’re back to squabbling between countries?”

“Yes, Sir, it would seem that way.”

“Good work. Keep me updated on the situation. I think it’s time I started pulling some strings.”

“Of course.” Natasha flicked her phone shut, tucking it away quietly. She looked around the corner first, carefully, before going out into the courtyard again. She had half an hour before the next meeting started, so she had to be quick.


	6. Freedom, Lie

CHAPTER VI: FREEDOM, LIE

He sat on the floor, legs crossed like a pretzel, cot in front of him. His bag sat on his lap. Most of his possessions were laid out on the cot, clothing sorted and sloppily folded. He’d just done laundry down at the river earlier that day and found a sunny spot to hang it all, which was the only reason it was dry at this point.

Books, medical supplies, a few bottles of generic medicines, the clothing afforded to him… Bruce fished into the bag, pulling out a wad of ties. He tossed those to the side. That looked like it. Bruce turned the bag upside-down, shaking it.

A card clattered to the concrete floor.

Bruce picked it up, fingers running over the raised numbers and letters. He turned it over. It was a credit card. The Stark Industries logo was printed on the upper left-hand side of it. Bruce’s name was printed on it. He frowned. Tony must have slipped it in his bag at some point.

Sighing, Bruce tossed it in the bag. He couldn’t accept it. Tony probably knew that. Plus it was another way to be traced. Tony probably had a whole computer devoted to picking up any transactions made on that card. Bruce should probably just throw it in the ocean or something.

Leaving it in the bottom of his bag, he started packing up his meager possessions again, leaving all the medical supplies on the top, where he could access them easily. He liked being ready to go, but he also needed to be able to help out when he did stop.

0 0 0 0 0

He let his head drop to the desk with a thump. He knew people were watching him, recording his every movement, his every twitch, but at the moment, he couldn’t really care. Clint let out a shaky sigh against the stack of papers.

Tests. It had been days of tests. He didn’t know how he was doing, so each new day, when he was escorted to this room with the one-way glass wall and the camera in the corner, he felt more and more anxious. Every question looked harder, looked like it could be interpreted in millions of ways he could not possibly comprehend, could not possibly intend, and it took longer and longer for him to put down his answers in writing.

If only he knew what the tests meant, if only he knew what everyone was getting out of them, he might not be in this position right now, forehead to a stack of papers, pencil shaking in his left hand, about to snap.

He put the pencil down on the table. He knew if he snapped it in half, it wouldn’t look good. Hell, none of this probably looked good.

Natasha’s cognitive recalibration obviously wasn’t enough for them. Him being in the middle of the battle in Manhattan obviously wasn’t enough, either. All the others were free, out prancing around doing whatever it was they did, and here he was, in what was, for all intensive purposes a cell. Day in, day out.

The camera whirred, turning to the side, before going back again. He wondered how many people were watching that feed. He wondered how many people were on the other side of that glass. He wondered if Tasha was one of them.

Clint pushed himself up, staring down at the top page again. It was math, simple math. He could probably do it in his sleep, especially the trajectory calibrations. He did those every day he was on the shooting range.

He flexed his hands, muscles tense, unhappy. It had been a long time since they’d let him hold his bow. He felt naked without it. They had to know that. They had to know this confinement, this lack of activity, was like a stranglehold.

Sighing, Clint picked up the pencil again, going through the paces.

The testing had to stop sometime.

0 0 0 0 0

Banner dipped his hands in the bucket, swishing them around. There was no running water out here. He had to hike a mile through the jungle to get to a natural spring, then hike back with water. He boiled it before using it, keeping the buckets covered. The long walks were nice, peaceful, alone. It felt like freedom, in a way.

Getting all the blood off his hands, he stood from his squat, shaking the water off. That was probably as dry as his hands were going to get for a while. He spoke to the family in hushed Spanish, listening hard. There was another language mixed in by the locals, Mayan from what little he could pick up. It was an interesting pigeon. If he stayed here much longer, he’d start picking it up.

The family thanked him, offering him a small corn and plantain cake wrapped in banana leaves. Bruce tried to decline with an awkward smile, but the father of the family said it was all they could give him.

Trying not to look saddened by that, Bruce took the tiny little cake. They returned to the cot-side, holding their son’s hand. He’d fallen off their roof and gotten a pole through him. Bruce had cleaned it up the best he could, removing little fragments of metal.

Those fragments had made him think of Tony, of the shrapnel he still had in him. Bruce brushed those thoughts aside just as he set the cake off to the side. He would eat it later, if he did not give it to someone else who was in more need than him.

A shadow fell across him, Bruce glancing up.

It was a man in a suit, black and flawless, a pressed white dress shirt and a black tie. There was a badge clipped to his jacket, with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. Bruce let out a shaky breath, staring down at the ground.

There were a lot of people in the run down, windowless and doorless building. A lot of people who trusted that this was a safe place, where family members could get well, where there was hope.

And here was S.H.I.E.L.D. to ruin that for them.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Banner spoke the words to his feet. He rubbed his hands together slowly, spreading the last drops of water across his calloused hands.

“I believe it would be to both of our benefits if we took this conversation outside, Dr. Banner.”

He was probably right, but how did he know there would not be a whole team of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives waiting for him outside. He glanced out one of the open windows, out into the night jungle. It was alive with sounds, but they were all natural, birds calling and animals scurrying about. He was sure it would have been deathly silent outside if there was a team.

“Fine.” Banner pushed his hands in his pockets, walking outside. The air was still oppressively warm, like having a wet canvas bag thrown over his head. He didn’t like that feeling at all right now. “What do you want?”

“I am merely here to check on you at the behest of S.H.I.E.L.D., to make sure you are living comfortably—”

“To make sure I haven’t had any incidents.” Bruce breathed the words out, staring at the star spattered sky. To think, there were whole other civilizations out there, among the stars. It was still mind-blowing at times.

“Yes.”

“Well, I hate to tell you, but constantly dropping in on me like this does wonders for my stress levels.”

He could see the agent tense in his periphery. He hadn’t even sounded angry. A bitter laugh fell from his lips before he could help it. The agent was clutching something under his suit jacket, probably a gun. That was novel.

“You know full well that won’t do anything.” Banner pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket. There were flecks of blood on the lens. He polished it slowly on his button-up shirt, watching it with distant eyes.

The agent took a step away, hands falling to his sides. He raised them slowly, in a sort of surrender. Bruce could see his fear, even in the corner of his vision. It beaded in tiny sweat drops glossing his forehead; it was hot out, very humid, but Bruce knew the difference.

“I suggest you leave now.” Bruce held up his glasses. They were as polished as they would get. He slid them back into his shirt pocket.

The agent turned, walking out into the darkness.

If there weren’t patients in there who still desperately needed his help, he would take his bag and leave. He would go further into the jungle, further from civilization. It was likely a few of his patients would die if he just left, though.

He couldn’t have more blood staining his hands.


	7. Trust

CHAPTER VII: TRUST

Tony tapped his fingers to the beat of the drums blaring over the speakers, bouncing in his chair. A new arm piece was cradled on the table before him, held up with lights everywhere, making the unpainted metal absolutely shine. The support struts and hydraulics were still showing, but he wasn’t done yet.

The Mark VII was going to be a thing of beauty when he was done with it.

And then he would start on the Mark VIII.

The song ended, Tony stilling for a moment. He frowned. He’d just been getting into his groove. Maybe that was a bad thing. He’d spent most of the song jamming out and not actually working.

“How’s the encryption going?”

“I unencrypted the files an hour ago, Sir.”

That was… “How long have I been down here, Jarvis?”

There was a pause, as though it actually took time to compile that information. After a few too many seconds for his liking, JARVIS gave his thoughtful response. “Are we only counting time spent here since it became Monday, or are you referring to total time, Sir?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. Pull up the files for me.” Tony spun in his chair, wheeling over to his desk. All the monitors flared to life across their glass screens. Tony rubbed his goatee, staring at his own reflection for a moment. There were circles under his eyes and stubble lined his whole jaw. Some of it was grey, which had him frowning deeper.

Finally, the files came up, Tony scanning over them quickly. Steve Rogers was in London on leave from his duties. Tony flicked that report to the side, going to the next one. Clint Barton was at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, currently grounded from all missions. That was interesting, but Tony flicked that to the side as well. Natasha Romanoff was somewhere in Europe, spy duty as usual. Tony flicked that to the side next. At least she was out of his hair.

Phil Coulson was… Tony sat up sharper. Apparently he was at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ as well. Interesting. Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping on his arc reactor. It glowed brightly beneath his black tank-top. Fury was a lying son of a bitch. Nothing was new there, though. Tony flicked to the next one.

It was a picture of that agent who had pestered him in the kitchen. He didn’t recognize the name. The guy was down in Mexico. Lucky bastard.

Tony kept flipping. Apparently there was a whole team of agents down in Mexico or Guatemala. This wasn’t looking like a fieldtrip anymore. Tony kept flipping.

Bruce Banner.

Tony ran a hand up over his face, taking a deep breath. After a moment, he looked up again, taking his time with the information.

Bruce was in Mexico.

The Yucatan Peninsula.

Near the border between Mexico and Guatemala.

Blood rushed through his ears, throbbing in his temples. The sound of his music faded. He knew it was still there, somewhere, beyond his attention. He couldn’t look away from the screen.

Tony jumped up, running for the door.

0 0 0 0 0

He cut power to the thrusters, landing with a hard thud. It jolted right up his legs, shock absorbers only doing so much. Tony Stark pulled up to his full height, the high winds buffeting him out there, exposed as the side of Stark Tower was. The platform beneath him began to spin, metal arms pulling up.

“Not yet.” Tony waved the arms off, voice metallic and cold as he marched down the short flight of stairs and along the curve of the walkway back to his penthouse. The construction crews had done a number on it. Everything looked pristine, perfect, like nothing had happened.

It seemed like that was how S.H.I.E.L.D. was acting and he didn’t like it. No one bit.

Tony marched to the elevator in his suit, stepping in. This felt ridiculous. Ridiculously necessary. He only had to go down a few floors to get to the one where S.H.I.E.L.D. was making their new home away from home. If he wasn’t so damn focused he might have let a few repulsor blasts go as warning shots, taken out a few cubicles as he talked for the office against the window.

A secretary stood and started babbling at him. His HUD pulled up her name badge and her file, which Tony flicked away with his eyes. He walked around her, strides strong and heavy in his suit.

“Mr. Stark, you can’t just—”

“Like hell I can’t.”

Tony kicked the door. It exploded inward, splintering at the hinges with a satisfying crunch. He walked right over the wreckage, HUD zooming in on the executive chair turned away from him. He could see Fury’s reflection on the window.

“Knock knock, asshole.”

Fury swiveled slowly, elbows on the arm rests, fingers steepled. What, had he been reading ‘How to be a Director of a Secret Organization 101’ again? Tony would have laughed at his own humor if he was actually at all humored by this.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, maybe you can tell me why you sent a whole team down to Mexico.”

Fury’s expression didn’t change. It was like he’d been waiting for Tony to hack back into his computer systems. It was like he had been expecting this confrontation and went through with it anyway.

“Come on, can’t you give the guy a break! He helped save Manhattan, for crying out loud! He’s a hero!” Tony flipped up his helmet, glaring at Fury with his own eyes.

The man’s smug expression did not change at all, nor did the calm, collected tempo of his voice.

“Haven’t you changed your tune?”

Tony frowned.

“Or do you not remember that time I contacted you for help hunting down one Dr. Bruce Banner, a.k.a. the Hulk, and you were right there, consulting away? Maybe I can find a video feed for you, refresh your memory a bit.”

It felt like an eon ago. Tony let out a shaky breath. He remembered it perfectly fine. Fury had explained the potential threat to him, explained that they needed to find a way to contain it, and Tony had helped.

Hell, that drop box of a cell on the helicarrier had been his design.

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what, Stark?”

“I didn’t know the man. I only knew the beast. You didn’t give me enough variables to work with. I—”

“You knew perfectly well what you were working with.”

“Call off the agents.”

“I am just setting up a perimeter.”

Tony clenched his fists. The repulsors glowed bright before they went dim again. He could see Fury’s one good eye flicking down to them.

“He deserves some peace and quiet.”

“Well, when he’s off without any sort of protection, he’s not exactly going to get that, now is he?”

There was no point in being here. He had a flight to arrange.


	8. Persecution

CHAPTER VIII: PERSECUTION

His very own room had been made into a cage. It used to be a place where he could go to escape it all, and now, now he could not escape it. It was a prison, despite what others might have said. Yes, he still had the lavish bed and other furniture and time to himself, but his books had all been removed, leaving the polished wooden shelves barren, his equipment confiscated, leaving the worn, well used tables defiled, all of his baubles from various expeditions around the Nine Realms taken, their cases hollow shells without them.

Was it worth it?

Loki had countless hours, days, to himself to think it over, to replay the entire situation in his mind’s eye, step by step. His plan had been brilliant. The momentum of it was frightening, even to his own mind. It had come together so quickly, a rapid fire of one event leading seamlessly to the next.

And now he was free of his precarious arrangement with the Chitauri.

A small smile traced his pale lips.

The doors shuddered, a warning. Loki stood slowly, hand grazing the high back of the ornate chair. He watched the door with suspicious eyes, senses keenly tuned to the energy blanket which had been placed over his abode, dampening his magic severely. They knew, all too well, that he could make himself invisible to those he did not want to see him, and that a simple cage would be an ineffective one.

So far, he had received no visitors other than the frightened servants who had been burdened with delivering semi-regular meals. Even without his magic, they were cautious of him, skittish even. Fear was far more powerful than any of the tricks he might have played on them in the past, so he relished in it.

However, it was not his meal time. Loki could normally smell the food long before the servant arrived at his door. He could also hear his guards converse briefly with the servants, telling them to be wary, not that they needed the reminder.

The silence worried him. Loki schooled his features impassive, waiting as patiently as he could with his stance rigid, chin lifted in defiance. He did not look as regal or threatening without his armor, but it was a chore to don without his magic, so his fine black, green, and bronze tunic, leather pants and boots would have to do.

He still looked every part the shunned prince of Asgard. No one dared say otherwise.

The doors did not open, no one making an appearance. Loki remained where he was, still as the statues in the great hall, every muscle tense and ready for a confrontation. No confrontation came, though. The hall was drenched in silence and still once more.

Frowning, Loki went back into his thoughts; it was the only sort of escape he had anymore.

0 0 0 0 0

“Father, I—”

“You know, as well as all of Asgard, that his words are not to be trusted. Any turn of phrase we so much as utter in his presence can be twisted and used as leverage to topple the precarious sense of peace we have only now recovered.”

Thor let out a huff of air, staring at the floor. He knew his father’s wisdom and knew not to argue it, and yet, part of him was saying this was entirely unfair. Surely, there had to be some other way.

“Will we not at least hear him out?”

It was the Allfather’s turn to sigh. “You are far too trusting of those who have done everything in their power to revoke that trust. Have you learned nothing?”

Thor finally looked up, face stern and composed, though his eyes were still rimmed with red. “I have learned much in the time I spent on Midgard, the greatest of those lessons being forgiveness.”

The Allfather turned his head just slightly, enough that Thor knew he had his attention and would be able to speak uninterrupted.

“I have learned that anyone can be redeemed, if only given a chance. I have learned that even the worst of men can grow and become something more, if the right pressure is applied.” Thor straightened his posture, feeling his strength of resolve growing. “The Midgardians I fought alongside against the Chitauri had not always been heroes. Some of them had even led less than noble lives before the invasion, but they overcame their pasts, and because of that, they saved the world.”

Silence fell over the glittering rampart of the palace. Thor caught himself holding his breath as he waited. He flexed his hands at his side. He missed the familiar weight of Mjölnir in his hands or strapped securely at his side. It was much like what the Midgardians referred to as a safety-blanket.

Odin nodded slowly, though his expression was no less stern. “And you think he is capable of such a reformation?”

Thor shifted. It was at times like this where he missed his ignorant confidence. “I… I do not know, but I would be willing to give him the chance.”

“Ah, that is the problem, is it not? The people of Asgard thirst for blood. They do not even know of his true nature and already their minds are made up. They assume his guilt, and I believe that assumption to be correct.”

“Would you truly sentence one of your own sons to death?”

Odin closed his eye, but not fast enough. Thor could see the pain wrought on his face. The Allfather still considered Loki his son, despite it all, and if Thor had to drag that up again and again to save his brother from this ill fate, then he would.

“As simple as it would be to simply erase his stain upon Asgard by executing him…” Odin opened his eye again, and it was glossed with liquid, though no tears were shed. It was enough to know they were there. “The path of a true king is never easy. If only our people would understand that…”

“Father, are you—”

“In order to rebuild the Bifrost, we have need of one who is both keenly intelligent and versed in the arts of magic. Without the Bifrost, we cannot call on the aid of the others in the Nine Realms, so we must search our own gilded halls for such a person.”

Loki.

A smile cracked his serious expression, splitting wide like the rising sun split the sky. It felt like the weight of a thousand Mjölnirs had been lifted off his shoulders to know that his brother’s life was no longer in peril.

“Shall I break the news to him, then?”

“No.” The Allfather lifted his hand to make Thor stay, so he remained where he was, though he shook with a joyous sort of anticipation. “Do not forget how delicate of a matter this is. Because of this, the decision must be made before our people, so that someday, our people might accept the decision.”

Thor nodded slowly. His father always made wise decisions, even if he did not understand them at first. In time, he was certain he might understand this one as well.

“I respect your decision, Father, and ask for your leave.” Thor crossed his arm over his chest, nodding in salute. He waited in that position, knowing there was more he had to say. “I wish to spend time with Sif and the Warriors Three. They know not of what transpired on Midgard since their last visit.”

The Allfather nodded, dismissing him officially. Thor turned on his heel, going quickly before the decision could be revoked.

0 0 0 0 0

They came for him at dawn. Bright golden shafts of light slanted across the open air halls, cutting the sprawling mosaic floors into slivers of warmth and pitch black shadows. Even with the shackles securing his wrists and his magic, as well as that muzzle securing his silver tongue, he still felt infinitely freer than he had in his own chambers.

Loki took a deep breath through his nostrils, the air itself alive with the magic he had been starved of in his prison. He eyes fluttered shut for a moment, even as his feet continued on their course, in rank with the gold and yellow clad guards flanking his sides.

The escort was entirely for show. Yes, the men were armed and armored, but with the muzzle and the shackles, without even his usual daggers, there was very little he could do, not that he would admit to it. Instead, he kept his chin high, shoulders straight, gait flowing and graceful as ever. He would not let anyone think for even a moment that this was humiliating.

They rounded the last corner, the corridor dissolving into the wide open of the audience hall.

Everyone in Asgard must have been crammed into that space, each chattering and laughing and hollering, the massive space unable to swallow their collective noise. It reverberated in his core, making his next breath shakier than he wanted.

It was like the coronation ceremony all over again.

Loki tried swallowing his nerves, the lump in his throat remaining. He carefully schooled his features to impassive, gaze locking on the stairs before him.

Once again, Thor was going to be lauded as the great hero of Asgard, the golden son of Odin, and once more, Loki was going to be cast aside. This time, it was likely to be permanent.

He was not ready to die.

The guard started forward again, steps slower, solemn. It was a funeral march. It felt like an eon before his feet finally came under his control again, moving him forward. He needed to look up. He needed to meet those leering eyes with defiance, he needed to show just how well he was doing.

He could not look up.

They stopped just before the raised dais of the Allfather’s throne, the guard fanning out around him. He stopped as well, finally pulling his gaze up.

Odin stood in all his glory above him, the scepter of Asgard’s power and rule clutched in his weathered, wrinkled hand. Those hands were growing weak, growing tired. He could feel the fatigue hanging over Odin’s shoulders like a great mantle, and a small smile pulled across his lips, hidden entirely by the muzzle.

The proceedings went exactly as he expected. The citizens of Asgard stepped forward one by one to plead with the Allfather, to tell their tales of being terrorized. Loki honestly could not remember even a small fraction of these people or the tricks he supposedly played on him, the words all becoming a blur of unintelligent sounds.

His gaze flicked to Thor, standing on the stairs next to their mother. Thor’s mother. Loki looked down quickly again. Thor’s expression was surprisingly free of emotion, though Frigga’s was that of pain and worry. He was surprised she even managed to contain herself that much, considering what was displayed in her ever emotive eyes.

The Allfather rapped his scepter against the podium, silence traveling like a wave. Loki took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He would savor the air while he still could, all things considered. There had not been a single good tale about him, despite all the good he had done in his youth, before he knew of Odin’s deception and lies.

“These acts, while distasteful, were not the acts of evil. They were mischief.” The Allfather was quiet, but his voice carried, Loki feeling the power behind it, behind the projection. Did none of the Allfather’s people recognize the obvious magic he used? Did they not realize the Allfather had been just as sorcerous as his rebellious adopted son?

Ah, but they did not know of his adoption, of the fact that the Allfather himself should have the petname of Liesmith just as much as he should, perhaps even more. Loki almost laughed, the muzzle the only thing which stopped it.

Here came his execution.

“Mischief is a far cry from chaos. Mischief can be controlled.”

Loki looked up, a delicate black brow arched in question. The Allfather was staring straight at him now, that single good eye boring deeply. Loki stared straight back into it, refusing to give any ground.

“Without the Bifrost, the great people of Asgard cannot commute between the Nine Realms when there is dire need. Without the Bifrost, we are isolated, and all things in isolation wilt and fade to dust.”

He frowned, hands fidgeting before him. He clasped them together quickly, knuckles turning a shade whiter with the force of his grip.

“As my son had a part in the destruction of the Bifrost, he should have a part in its reconstruction.”

His eyes widened.

This was not a death sentence.

This was far, far from a death sentence.

Surely they wanted his blood? Surely they wanted him hung, disemboweled, for all to see and laugh at?

This was…

“I hereby sentence Loki, son of Odin… to servitude for the greater good of Asgard.”

Hushed whispers rolled over the crowd. If the glares of the citizens were sharp like knives, he would be a mangled heap at this point. Beyond that, even.

The Allfather pounded his scepter down harder, the people hushing again.

This was not what they wanted.

The shackles unwound from his wrists, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. His muzzle retracted, joining it on the gilded floor. Loki reached up slowly, running his hands over his face. Magic pulsed through his veins, setting them afire with power. He took in a deep breath with his mouth, tasting the life of Asgard for the first time in what felt like forever.

“You will be under constant supervision and guard. You will work on the Bifrost and nothing but until its completion. Any use of magic resulting in ill effects upon another citizen of Asgard will be taken as an attack against the House of Odin, which carries the sentence of death.”

Of course there was the possibility of death. Loki knew the people would have revolted otherwise. They never would have trusted the Allfather again, of that much Loki was certain, and he almost wished that line had been crossed.

It would have been more fun for him, at least.

Loki raised his right arm, crossing it over his chest. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, never breaking the Allfather’s stare. “I humbly accept my punishment and your kindness, Allfather.”

Odin frowned, but thankfully did not resend his offer.

Perhaps this could be made into something.


	9. Dangerous Decisions

CHAPTER IX: DANGEROUS DECISIONS

She pulled her phone out of her purse, punching the screen furiously. It was fifteen minutes into what was supposed to have been an official press conference on Stark Industries’ clean power initiative, and all the reporters were starting to whisper things amongst themselves which were far from becoming and Tony wasn’t there yet.

Tony knew full well about this press conference. He had actually had a hand in setting it up—that was a miracle in and of itself—and he wasn’t here. It wasn’t even early. Pepper glanced at her watch as she brought her phone up to her ear. It was four. In the afternoon. He was always up by four, if he’d even slept at all. There was no excuse for this.

The reporters were starting to notice her in the corner, crunched against a column like she could vanish in the shadows. She wished she could, with the looks and sneers she was getting. 

She knew what they were thinking. It was always the same thing. That Tony was off with another woman. That he was sleeping around. Partying. Generally being a bad person. They didn’t know. They couldn’t. Tony had changed. He wasn’t like that anymore. He had a purpose.

The line cut to Tony’s answering machine. She wanted to throw her phone at the wall. When she needed to get a hold of him, he was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been that way for so long, she almost forgot how frustrating it was.

Taking three deep breaths, she dialed again. He had to pick up.

0 0 0 0 0

 

The phone vibrated next to his glass of scotch. Tony glanced down. He picked up the glass, taking a sip. It burned all the way down, settling like a stone in his stomach. He rolled the glass in his hand, watching the rich amber-mahogany liquid swirl around, clinging to the surfaces it touched.

Less than a minute after the phone stopped, it started again. Tony sighed, glancing down at it again. Pepper. Again.

Finally, Tony answered. “Yes, dear?”

“Where are you?! You have a press conference and everyone is—”

“Pepper, deep breaths. Repeat after me: everything is fine. It is not the end of the world. You will survive. Actually, since you’re repeating, say I, not you.” Tony knocked back the last of his glass, sliding it to the edge of the table.

Pepper sighed and said something that sounded distinctly like a profanity. Normally that would have made Tony laugh or make fun of her, but this wasn’t normally. Then again, what was normal anymore? After the whole alien shenanigans, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Tony, the press conference started twenty minutes ago!”

“I still don’t get this concept. It’s my press conference. How can it start before I get there?”

“Because you scheduled it for today! Where are you?”

He could tell she was whisper yelling, and he knew exactly what that meant. She was at the press conference. Probably wearing that little black dress of hers with matching heels. He couldn’t remember if he’d gotten that one for her birthday or not. It was very tasteful, so it was likely.

“Pepper—”

“Tony, you promised me this kind of stuff wasn’t going to happen anymore.”

“This is…” Tony sighed, lowering his head with a frown. She couldn’t see him, but it was likely she’d be able to hear it. “Pep, this is different. I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Tony… Promise me you aren’t doing something regrettable.”

His mouth was suddenly very dry. Tony held up his glass, waving it until one of his stewardesses came over to grab it and hopefully get him a refill. He glanced out the window, searching for something, anything, that could serve as a distraction. Ocean and clouds sprawled out beneath his private jet. Nothing. He sighed.

“I can’t do that.”

“Look, I can call off the press conference, and if they try arguing with me, I’ll shut them down, like usual. Just… call me, okay? I just want to make sure you’re alive and not—”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony gave a small, forced smile as his glass was put back down, more scotch in it. He took a thick gulp. “I’ll let you know exactly what’s going on as soon as I know what that is.”

There was another long pause; Tony could hear the murmur of a crowd on the other line, though it was muffled. He could imagine exactly where Pepper would be half-hiding and half-watching the throng of sharks—media, he meant—gathered for his announcement.

“This is about Dr. Banner, isn’t it?”

His hand shook on his glass. He set it down slowly. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. No words could. What would he tell her?

“Just… be careful, Tony. I know that’s a hard thing for you, but at least try.”

“Look, Bruce isn’t—”

“I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about whatever you are trying to save him from.”

Tony squeezed his eyes, rubbing his free hand over them. Pepper knew him too well. It took another moment before he could answer her. “I will.”

Pepper whispered a quiet thank you before hanging up. He lowered the phone slowly before letting it drop to the table. It bounced a few times then settled. The stewardess was back, but he didn’t hear her, waving her off after a moment.

The pilot came on the intercom. They were coming around for landing. Tony stood, pulling his briefcase suit out from beneath the table.

He was as ready as he could be.

0 0 0 0 0  
There was not much to pack. He always kept his bag ready, in case he had to go. Bruce shoved the last of his books in the top, tugging the zipper hard to close it up. Everything fit. He hefted it, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

It was dark outside, so black the air looked like it’d been smothered with ink. Bruce ducked out of the door, walking swiftly across the mix of crushed stones and mud. It’d rained the night before and the night before that, and while he didn’t like the idea of traveling at night during a new moon, without light, he didn’t have a choice.

He’d stayed too long already.

Bruce turned sharply at the last building, onto the hard packed dirt road. It would lead him straight towards the Mexico-Guatemala border. There weren’t any big cities out there, just tiny villages and ruins of the Mayan civilization.

It didn’t feel like far enough away.

He could just go the other way, back to civilization. He took a deep breath, two, three, counting his heart rate with two fingers pressed to his wrist. Slow and steady. He would be fine. Bruce kept walking.

Sweat trickled down from his hair line. He laced his fingers up through his hair, arms up. The air circulation felt a little better, but his shirt was already clinging to him. Puddles littered the road and he couldn’t see them in the blackness.

This probably wasn’t safe. But that was for everyone else. He knew he couldn’t die. Other people, normal people, weren’t so lucky though. Luck. Right. Bruce kept walking.

There were lights ahead.

Bruce slowed, stopped. He lowered his hands, frowning. The villages weren’t marked on any of the maps, but the locals told him it was a day’s hike at least. Bruce pulled up his canteen, taking a long draw from it. Screwing the cap back on, he let it slap back down against his side.

A light turned towards him.

0 0 0 0 0

 

He braced against the exposed frame of the jeep as they hit a rather large rut, half jumping out of the seat. There weren’t seatbelts, not that he wore one often. It wasn’t really his style. Unless he was on an out of repair back road in the jungle in the middle of the night, going as fast as the engine would let them. That fit the bill, but still no seat belt.

Thankfully his briefcase was heavy enough to keep him in place for the most part.

Tony lifted his phone, frowning. The signal from the chip in Banner’s card wasn’t too far off. They were closing quickly. Tony tapped a few buttons on the screen, immediately regretting it as they hit another bump. He reached up, gripping the steel frame hard.

They passed another village, nothing more than a few shacks in a half-kept clearing. Tony glanced over while the headlights gave him some view of it, frowning. This was exactly the sort of place Bruce was known to hide out in, but the signal was still further out. It had been moving, albeit slowly, when he got off the plane, but now it was still.

Maybe there was another village.

Lights. Bright, unnatural lights. Tony reached over, grabbing the driver’s arm hard. The man slowed, stopped, and shut of the headlights.

That wasn’t a sleepy village. It looked like a miniature military base.

Tony jumped out of the jeep, dragging the briefcase with him. It was heavy in his hand, but that weight was more than a little reassuring. He walked quickly, sneakers quiet on the packed dirt. He could hear talking, if only faintly, getting closer. He strained to listen, holding his breath.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

Bruce.

Tony broke into a sprint.

The metallic slide of guns cocking echoed in the oppressive silence.

There wasn’t time.

Tony dropped the case, pressing the button on his phone. With a hiss, it unfurled. He bent, lacing his hands through the grips and pulling hard. Cold metal curled around his arms, flipping out over his torso. Like a wave, metal covered him, locking securely in place.

The moment the helmet snapped into place, the HUD flared to life and Tony activated the thrusters.

He flew in a crimson and gold streak, stabilizers pulsing as he dodged between trees. He pushed faster, gritting his teeth.

At the last moment, he deployed all flaps and cut power, landing with a thud in the middle of the clearing.

All guns swiveled. People yelled. Tony straightened. The shoulder flaps opened, miniaturized missile pods rising with them. The HUD registered faces, pulling up one S.H.I.E.L.D. agent file after another.

He’d found the team.

“Tony, what are you—”

“Mr. Stark, I suggest you stand down—”

“Yeah, how about no?” Tony raised his palms, aiming each in a different direction. The missiles armed, lighting up red in warning. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“Protecting our interests.”

“Like hell you are.” Tony grated the words out. His arms shook, hidden by his armor. “Drop your guns, or I shoot.”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t believe—”

“Tony, you don’t—”

“Drop them!” Tony brought up the missile pods on his left arm as well, their clicking red the moment they were raised.

Slowly, the agents lowered their guns. They fell to the ground with a clatter. Tony didn’t disarm his weapons.

“Do you trust me?” Tony glanced over his shoulder, HUD focusing on Bruce’s face. Sweat ran in little streams along the dip of his cheekbone, sliding down the line of his jaw. His normally brown eyes were flecked with green. He could see the vein at his temple absolutely throbbing. His heart must have been going a million miles an hour.

Bruce looked down for a moment, mouth moving, but no words coming out. He finally ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it back like he could see better. Tony smiled beneath his mask.

“Yeah.”

“Then hold on. I’m getting you out of here.”

He offered a hand out. This time, Bruce took it.


	10. Putting the World Back Together

CHAPTER X: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER

The press conference went without a hitch. Tony had a stack of note cards with him, and for five minutes, he actually discussed the points on them. That had to be some sort of record. And then, when he went off the note cards, he kept on topic.

Of course the press asked how he and Pepper were doing. He smiled, looking down, and told them to get back on topic. Someone else asked about alleged reports of Iron Man sightings in Central America. Tony laughed, adding a “that’s cute” before moving on again.

It was official. All Stark Industries facilities in the United States were going to be converted over to arc reactor power. He also announced to the press conference that the state of New York and Stark Industries were currently in negotiations over a power contract for Manhattan, since a good chunk of it had been running on said arc reactor during all the repairs.

His (least) favorite blond reporter was there, too, and she asked why he hadn’t been seen out with a whole plethora of scantily clad women lately.

That was the last question he was going to deal with. Tony leaned forward, mouth almost on the microphone as he gave his answer. “People change.”

He winked, for good measure, and called it to an end, watching as the sharks all swam off to find other blood in the sea. That just left three of them in the room, Tony up on the little stage, Dr. Banner over by the windows, arms crossed over his chest protectively, and Pepper, also in the back, but by one of the columns, like usual.

She started forward immediately, glancing back over her shoulder at the doctor once. Tony braced himself, fingers strumming the sides of the podium as he tried to read her expression. It was impossible.

“I wanted to congratulate you.” Pepper broke out into a full smile, its lighting up her own face. Tony let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the podium with a chuckle. He’d thought she was going to slap him for a moment there. It wouldn’t be the first time. “That was the best press conference I’ve ever seen you give.”

“Well, I, uh, had an audience.” Tony laughed again, but this one was forced. He couldn’t look up, especially when he saw Pepper glance over her shoulder in his periphery.

Pepper shook her head. “I was being serious. You actually addressed all the points and kept on topic and I won’t have to do PR cleanup for the next month straight.”

“I was, too.” Tony mumbled those words then cleared his throat, straightening. “Can we keep him?”

“Tony, the last time you asked that—”

“And she turned out to be a great assistant. And a super assassin who was spying on me, but still a great assistant.” Tony looked at her pointedly, trying to frown, but he couldn’t. Bruce was still standing back by the windows, one spoke of his glasses hanging from his mouth, hands fiddling with the other one as he stared out at who knew what. “He’s house trained.”

Pepper burst out laughing now, snorting near the end. She covered his face with a blush, wrapping an arm around her trim middle. “Okay, okay, yes, you can keep him. Where is he going to stay?”

“The remodels are all done on the Tower, right? ‘Cause if they are… I kind of designed a whole floor for him.”

“Tony!” Pepper was still smiling, so that was good. “Well, let’s go then. I’m sure you two will want to play on R&D floors when we get back.” She rolled her eyes, before turning on a black polished heel and striding back to where Bruce was.

She offered a hand out, smiling as she formally introduced herself. They shook hands. Bruce shot him a glance at something Pepper said, so Tony just shrugged, pointing up at his ear to indicate he couldn’t hear them.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he headed down there, shuffling like a schoolboy.

Everything was going to be all right now.


End file.
